Louder Than Words
by JoBethMegAmy. my homegirls
Summary: My take on Jane/Maura after the season 2 finale. It's important to ask if Maura will be able to forgive her best friend for what happened, but also if Jane will be able to forgive herself. Which relationships are the most important? Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: AAAAHHHHH. I was in the middle of writing a new chapter for my Rizzoli and Isles/Bones crossover, but then the season finale happened and GAH. I was so distraught and horrified and upset and confused and sad that I had to write something. I literally have no idea how I'm going to handle six months until the new season!

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><p>"Never."<p>

"Doc."

"Never. Detective Frost, you saw what she did. She killed my father. She killed him right in front of me. I will never be able to forgive her for that."

"Listen, Maura." She registered the use of her given name, indicating a level that she and Frost, though friendly, had never before reached. "Jane did what she needed to do. It could've just as soon been me that pulled that trigger."

Maura stood up and made to leave, not caring that it was her office and she should be the one to tell Frost to get out. "I wish it _had _been you. I could've withstood that. You and I, we work together, but that's not all that Jane and I are. She's my best friend, I thought I could trust her, I thought she cared about me—"

"Whoa, Maura, come on. There is not a single person in the world Jane cares about more than you."

Her voice was strangled. "Then why'd she do this? She cared more about Agent Dean than she did about my relationship with my father!"

She headed for the door, but Frost took a step and slammed the office door shut. The move startled Maura, distracted by its boldness and sheer loudness, from protesting or forcing her way through. In a dark bitter voice, Frost said, "Patty Doyle was the man who fathered you, but he was not your dad. I know that much. Furthermore, I know it wasn't Jane's plan to kill him. She wanted to incapacitate him, to keep him from hurting anyone else at the scene—you saw it! He fell!"

"She killed him same as if she shot him through the heart," Maura said viciously. "And don't you dare presume to tell me otherwise." With that, she pushed past him and yanked the door open, slamming it resolutely behind her.

Jane, meanwhile, would never be presumptuous enough to say that she was feeling worse than Maura, yet objectively speaking, she felt like she was. Everything had happened so fast—she had experienced the same hurt, shock, and confusion that Maura had, but put guilt on top of it all. This added up to having Jane sitting alone at the bar of the Dirty Robber, downing a seemingly endless number of drinks. Fresh guilt came over her in waves—_what if that had been Pop, just trying to protect me, and Maura had killed him?—_but then it would briefly subside by lapsing into justification:_ Yeah, well Pop wasn't a mob boss. He didn't try to take the law into his own hands and kill people_. And she'd feel good about it for a moment or two, but then she'd take another sip of beer and think something miserable like, _that's all I do. I solve homicide_ _cases, but I kill people all the time_. _How many lives have I taken on the job? Am I too trigger-happy?_ _Was Dean's shot enough to take Doyle out of action?_

But the worst of all was remembering in perfect, heartbreaking clarity the look on Maura's face and the harshness of her voice right after the deed had been done. Both had burned through Jane's heart like acid, and she was not surprised that recalling this memory for the umpteenth time had finally caused tears to well up in her eyes. She remembered running to the hospital to see Maura after Constance had been hit, how Maura had asked her to find the bastard who'd almost killed her mother. _And then I killed her father. I killed my best friend's father. _Just the mere thought of these words forced a sob out of her. Maura would never speak to her again, and Jane didn't know that she could blame her. _Look how I treated her after I found out she knew Tommy was a suspect in that bank robbery. What was I thinking? How could I call myself her friend?_

She glanced up when the television above the other side of the bar started playing a news story about Patty Doyle's death. With a growl, Jane snapped at the bartender to change the channel, and he wordlessly complied.

"Jane." It was Frost. Jane turned to look, and he sighed upon realizing how much she had clearly already had to drink. "C'mon, let's get you home."

"No," she mumbled, shaking off his weak attempt to take her by the arm. "Pull up a chair, partner. Or former partner, maybe I should say."

"What do you mean?" he asked patiently.

"I just decided. I'm gonna move to Florida, go be near my dad."

"And away from Dr. Isles?"

"I don't have a lot, Frost, but there are two things in my life that I love more than life itself: Maura Isles and my job, in that order." She hadn't planned on telling him this, and though she had never mentioned anything even close to it before, Frost was not surprised. He perfectly understood that Jane did not mean platonic love, and he knew from personal experience that drunken words were sober thoughts. "Maura hates me now, so I have to leave. Go be a cop somewhere else. Isn't that a great idea?"

"Look, Jane, you just gotta give her time. She'll come around."

Jane nearly cut him off, slurring her first few words: "No she won't. She won't, Frost, 'cause she doesn't need to. She should hate me for the rest of her life, and after she dies, too, she should still hate me when I'm rotting in hell for what I did."

"Don't say that, Jane. You didn't mean to kill him."

"But I killed him. I let him die when I promised her I wouldn't do anything. Constance almost died and then—and now—her father's dead because of me. I'm a bastard, Frost."

He put an arm around her shoulder, and she didn't pull away. She merely stared miserably at the near-empty beer bottle in front of her, as if willing herself to literally drown in the amount that remained. Frost's voice was unsteady, as though he was still trying to convince himself to believe in what he said: "Patty Doyle was a murderer, Jane. You did what you had to, what you _should _have done. It was self-defense."

"It wasn't though, Frost, it wasn't. He didn't shoot _me_, he shot _Dean_. Because Dean followed him there even though—even though I told him not to, _God_, what was I thinking when I told him about Doyle…"

"You were thinking of the law! And Maura of all people should've been able to appreciate that you've loved her more than her father ever did—"

"Frost, no, you don't know what you're talking about!" Jane complained, trying to cut through her desperate, drunken haze to make him understand. "Dammit, as much as I hate to say it, he loved her! That bastard sonuvabitch mob boss loved her, so I can't just call him this bad guy when there was obviously more to him than that! He killed Flynn to protect Maura, and if I had a single goddamned brain in my head I'd have stopped to know that he wouldn't have hurt me, either, because he knows I'm Maura's best friend."

"You are her only friend," Frost said shortly. "She needs you, Jane."

"Needs me? Needs _me_, Frost? The bastard who killed her father?"

"She'll be lost without you, Jane. I had a chance to talk to her when we were checking out the car that hit her mother—you were the first person she called after the accident, and you were the _only_ person she called. No other friends, no other family. Sure she's mad as hell at you right now, and like you said, maybe from her point of view it's granted. But in time, maybe a lot of time, she'll remember how much she needs you."

But he was talking to a wall. Running a hand through her disheveled hair, Jane sniffed, "I loved her more than Doyle ever did, and I showed her."

"Did you tell her?" Frost asked quietly.

Jane shook her head, and the crying picked up its intensity again. "She'll never love me, Frost. It doesn't matter, nothing matters, because now she'll _never _love me!"

She was too drunk to care that she was crying this hard in a public place, and in front of Frost. This pain was beyond embarrassment, and had only been increased, not numbed as she had planned, by all of the alcohol. Jane was barely conscious of Frost's arms around her, trying to comfort her; barely conscious of the tears and the mucus flowing freely down her face, into her mouth. All she could register was the light taste of disgust, which perfectly matched how she felt about herself at the moment and her behavior earlier that day. Probably because she was finally too exhausted to fight it anymore, she allowed herself to be cajoled into going home. Frost drove her to her complex and walked her upstairs, then hesitated outside her actual apartment door.

"Stay," Jane muttered, still crying quietly as she fumbled with the keys.

He gently took them from her and unlocked the door, pushing it open. "You want me to stay?" he asked softly.

She inhaled deeply, and it was a tired, wet sound. "Yeah. Sleep on the couch."

"Sure thing, Jane."

Frost barely slept a wink, distraught on behalf of his friend. Jane only slept because her body was so overwhelmed with all it had consumed in the last couple of hours, and her guilt-ridden heartbreak was no match for the powerful substances she had so indulgently ingested. It made for a long, uninterrupted sleep, and she did not even stir until ten-thirty in the morning.

Her first conscious thought was of the horrible headache she had, and she dimly wondered if that was what had woken her. From there, her memory quickly worked backwards: she was hungover; she'd been at the Dirty Robber for God knows how long; she had killed Patty Doyle …her heart plummeted at the memory. For a few glorious seconds, the day had been new and full of promise, the sun had been shining, she had even (as usual) wondered what Maura would be wearing and what quirky facts she would share with her today.

But none of that would ever be again. Every day for the rest of Jane's life would be darkened, regardless of sunlight, by the memory of what she had done. She screwed her eyes shut and ground her fists into them, but no action could ever erase that scathing, horrified look on Maura's face after Jane had shot her father. With each small realization came a sharper, harder pound in her temple, a physical reminder to taunt her about what she had done. A life without Maura in it—her smile, her face, her friendship, her embrace—was one Jane did not want to think about, but she had brought it on herself.

She wanted nothing more than to stay in bed all day, but the physical pain was becoming too much to bear. Moving deliberately, Jane got to her feet and headed to the kitchen for some Advil. At the sound of her door opening, Frost quickly turned from the couch, and he could tell that Jane was initially surprised to see him.

"Oh yeah," she muttered, walking to one of her kitchen cabinets.

He stood up, suddenly worried more than ever about his potential to say entirely the wrong thing, now that Jane was sober. "Jane, I… I don't… uh, you okay?"

Jane tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Yah, sure, don't worry about me, Frost. Just got a bit of a headache." She shook out some pills and downed them without any water. "Thanks for bringing me back."

"Of course. Can I do anything else?"

"No, man. Go ahead and go home."

"You sure?"

A slightly more genuine smile graced her features. "Yes. I swear I won't drink myself to death again. I just …I just need some time to myself."

He nodded solemnly. "I understand."

She wanted to walk over and hug him, just so he would know how grateful she really was, but Jane stayed put. Outward displays of affection always made her feel uncomfortable, and Frost probably would have felt awkward, too. So with a few more muttered exchanges, he picked up his coat and walked out the door, leaving Jane completely on her own.

A shower seemed like a good idea, but as she changed out of clothes she had fallen asleep in, Jane opted instead for shorts and black sports bra. She'd promised Frost not to beat herself up with anymore alcohol, so the next logical tact seemed to be beating up the dummy Frost and Korsak had given her several months ago. With each punch, Jane thought one negative thing about herself; with each kick she internally reminded herself why she was unworthy of Maura ever laying eyes on her again. Ultimately she got so riled up that without even noticing, she had started saying the self-effacing things aloud. It only stopped when one particularly heavy punch had caused the dummy to swing so drastically it seemed liable to swing to the floor. Sweaty and exhausted, Jane finally allowed herself that shower.

For Jane, showers had always been quick. Growing up, she had never understood why women felt the need to take "luxurious," half-hour long showers when there were people all over the world without the mere simple luxury of running water. Standing in a shower longer than it was necessary to rid yourself of sweat or grime was such a waste—or so she had thought until today. Granted, it wasn't a conscious action, but Jane stayed under the boiling jet for nearly forty-five minutes, crying again. Nothing could ever wash away what she had done. No baptism could ever eradicate the guilt that racked her to the core, or rid her of the self-loathing she had built up so quickly.

After her shower, she slipped on a robe and curled up in bed with a magazine she flipped open but never read. Jo Friday jumped onto the bed next to her, and when Jane didn't immediately pay her any attention, the dog nuzzled her head under her owner's arm. For the first time in several hours, Jane genuinely smiled.

"You'll always love me, won't you, Jo?" she murmured, scratching behind her pet's ears. "You won't ever care what I do… so long as I feed you and walk you. You won't ever turn your back on me."

And it was only for Jo that Jane left her apartment at all that day, to give her a walk. It was a gorgeous day outside, but Jane felt guilty taking any joy in it, and returned as quickly as possible to her apartment, which somehow felt cluttered and empty at the same time. Still exhausted from all that had happened yesterday, she fell asleep at four in the afternoon and didn't wake up until her phone went off the next day.

There was a call from operations about a murder. Instinctively Jane had said she'd be right there, but after hanging up, was suddenly pricked with worry that Maura would be there as well. As if anticipating this possibility, Korsak was the next person to give her a call:

"Jane, I just thought you should know… Maura's taking some personal time off. Dr. Pike is going to be handling this case."

"Oh," she said dully. "Okay."

True to Korsak's word, Maura did not show up to work for three full weeks. When Pike announced his last day on the job, Jane chickened out and called in sick. Even though she knew she was merely prolonging the inevitable and that she could only afford to miss two days at most, Jane didn't care. She had not once tried to call or email Maura, because she knew anything she message she left would be ignored, and rightfully so. Nothing she ever left on a machine could communicate how she really felt.

Sitting up late at night on her second day away from work, Jane pulled out an old legal pad. It was the only paper she had in her apartment, and she didn't feel like going out to buy something more suitable—but she wanted to write Maura a letter. The need to do so had overcome her suddenly, and something told her not to ignore the feeling. As she tried to come up with the perfect thing to say, she thought sourly to herself that it was too bad Hallmark didn't have a _sorry-I-killed-your-father _card. She wanted to laugh, but the urge quickly left her and she felt disgusted with herself. She and Maura had often exchanged macabre quips over bodies of victims, but those victims had never been personally connected to them.

It took several drafts and a couple of hours, but Jane finally got something out that she felt she could stand behind:

_Dearest Maura_,

_ Let me start by saying that I absolutely understand if you want to read no further (assuming you didn't tear this letter apart on sight). I am completely aware that nothing I ever say to you will make up for what I did, for my abominable actions. You have every right to be angry with me, because in retrospect I realize that I betrayed your trust. I do not exaggerate when I say that realization hit me harder and has hurt longer than a bullet I once shot through myself. Saying "I'm sorry" will never be enough, and I know that. But in case you had just the slightest doubt, I need for you to know that I am sorry. I'm so sorry that I hurt, physically, every day—and it's made even worse by knowing that it can't compare to the pain I've inflicted upon you. _

_ This letter is not meant to excuse away what I did, or justify it by any means. It is to serve only as an explanation. I can hardly live with myself as it is, but (perhaps selfishly), I am hoping to lessen the pain even slightly by trying to tell you some of my thoughts and motivations._

_ I say "motivations" plural only as a technicality: there are some things motivated by pure, involuntary instinct—whether it's instinct to save my own life or another person's, or instinct to follow through on the law. More often than not, those are not conscious decisions. They are made in the heat of the moment. When I shot Doyle, that wasn't premeditated. It was fueled by adrenaline and fear. _

_ You, Maura Isles, are my motivation for everything else. _

_ I didn't follow you to the burned-out factory that day to kill Patty Doyle. I didn't even really go there to catch our killer. I went to protect you. I went to make one-hundred percent sure that you were safe. When I realized that hit-and-run was a straight attempt to murder you, I knew I was going to do anything in my power to protect you. When Hoyt had us trapped in that prison infirmary, I felt like I deserved to die for my stupidity. But I couldn't let him kill you, I couldn't let him hurt you even more when I saw him cut your neck. I didn't care what happened to me; I had to make sure you were safe. When Bobby showed his true colors and tried to kill us, I did what I had to keep you alive. I had faith in you to keep Frankie alive, which is exactly what you did, even when you were under so much pressure and we were almost killed. _

_ All of this makes it sound like I'm trying to say you owe me or something, but that's not what I mean. I don't know how else to tell you I love you. I need you to know that. Even if you never speak to me again, I have to get it out—I'm in love with you, Maura, I love you so much. But actions speak louder than words, and the last action you saw me take was violent and seemingly uncalled for. It was not my intent to kill Patty Doyle. But I was confused. You have told me off more than once for trying to defend him, and you have called him a callous murderer. What changed? How did he redeem himself? I know what I did will never be right in your eyes, please don't think I'm fine with what I did. I just have to know why you were so quick to stand by him and not me. _

_ But this isn't about me. It's about you and how I've hurt you. I am so profoundly sorry. You are the person in this universe I love more than anyone else. I didn't know I could love somebody this much, and I hate myself for causing you this much pain. In spite of all my stupidity and horrible decisions, and in spite of the possibility that you will never talk to me outside of work again, I will always remain_

_Eternally yours, Jane_

There was no time to wait for a post office to deliver this. Jane carefully folded the letter in an envelope, wrote Maura's name on the front, and headed for her car. If she backed out now, she knew she'd never get the letter out there. But once she reached Maura's house, Jane sat in the car for nearly two minutes. A light was on somewhere in the house, but unfortunately that was all she could tell from the curtained window. The temptation to go and ring the bell was incredibly tempting, but Jane did nothing more than run to the mailbox and slip her letter inside. Her heart raced all the way home, and it wasn't until she was in bed and had turned the lights off that it seemed to go back to normal. Her stomach felt twisted in anticipation, and she had trouble sleeping as she struggled to imagine how Maura would react to her letter.

Jane's worst fear was confirmed when she awoke the next morning to a text from Maura: _I'm leaving Boston_.

That was it. Three words and Jane felt like her world had imploded. She called in sick again, but actually felt it was legitimate—she threw up after reading the text. It was probably a culmination of the horrible diet she'd been on lately combined with her lack of steady sleep and exercise, and the devastating implications of Maura's text had been the last straw. Jane had poured her heart out as best she could, and while it might not have been as nicely worded or articulate as the kinds of letters Maura was probably accustomed to reading, it had been Jane's best. Maura's response had been so cold, and even though Jane had been expecting something like it, she had dared let herself hope for so much more.

She had no idea what all she accomplished that day. Probably nothing. The ache of the thought of losing Maura gnawed at her from the inside out, rendering her immobile. Jo had been forced to relieve herself in the apartment, because despite her pleading barks and gently nudges against Jane's leg, Jane really could not be bothered to leave. She never would have thought anyone could make her feel this down.

Around 8:00 that night, there was a knock at her door. It would be Frankie or her mother, probably, and she had no desire to talk to either of them. The knock repeated several times, and Jane waited for an impatient Italian voice to accompany it, but none came. She glanced at her phone, waiting for a family member to call, but the device remained silent on her coffee table. When the knock came again, and louder, Jane finally launched herself off the couch. It felt surprisingly good to do something so active—_what a joke, thinking opening a door is active_…

Fully prepared to tell off whoever it was, Jane yanked open the door, but felt immediately winded at the sight of who was standing there.

"Maura?"

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><p><strong>AN**: please review for more. I hope to be inspired when/if I see the episode again. If I can handle it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Oh, wow. I am honestly surprised and humbled by your kind responses to this story! It really means a lot that what I wrote for my own catharsis has reached other people as well! Re-watching the episode really brought a whole lot of things to light for me, which I explored in this update. I hope fits...

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><p>Maura had always hated the expression "weak at the knees." It was an overused colloquialism related to nothing but emotion—unreliable, unempirical emotion. People rarely, if ever, used it literally, which is why Maura released a barely audible gasp upon realizing that she was experiencing it now. Prior to her father's death, Maura had been accustomed to seeing Jane every day; Jane's daily presence in her life was as much of a given as the concept of having three meals a day. After just over three weeks of experiencing a world where Jane Rizzoli did not talk to her, email her or shoot her a smile, Maura found herself completely overwhelmed to be on the woman's doorstep. She was already trembling, but when Jane had opened the door and whispered her name, Maura unequivocally felt her knees go weak.<p>

So quickly she had forgotten how sensual her name always sounded when it rolled off Jane's tongue like that. If it was lost in the middle of a sentence or tagged on as a last-minute clarification, it lost that indefinable magic; but spoken decidedly and singly like that, Maura felt her heartbeat accelerate slightly. She had never been particularly fond of her name, probably stemming back to when (fairly unoriginal, excessively rude) grade school classmates had called her "Maura the bore-a." But the way Jane said her name sometimes—reverently, dearly—made Maura feel adored. She had not been prepared for hearing her name spoken like that after reading the humble proclamation of love that had been left in her mailbox that morning, and it was the simple unexpectedness of that power which she suspected of causing the weakness in her knees.

Over the past few weeks, Maura had felt every emotion under the sun, even if she couldn't attach a name to them all. Right after her father's death, words like "frustration," "hurt," "betrayal," and "anger" all seemed utterly worthless to describe what she was going through. The English language had rarely disappointed Maura so deeply before: there was simply not a single word to explain how she felt. It was as if all her faculties had shut down in response to the shock, and as a result, she had lashed out at the one person she had ever been certain truly loved her. It was a love she had been sure encompassed every meaning of the word: sisterly, friendly, protective …and, recently, Maura had begun to guess the love really was of the romantic variety as well. But she had convinced herself that it was nothing more than a projection of what she desired more than anything else in the world, rendering her completely silent on the matter. She was going to wait for Jane to initiate action—even now.

"Can I come in?" Maura asked curtly, belying the frailty that was threatening to make her stumble if she didn't sit down soon.

"Of course," Jane said, quickly stepping aside and opening the door wider, closing it after Maura had walked inside.

There was a cold, deliberate precision to the doctor's movements, and she went directly to sit on the couch as Jane anxiously tried to clear up the space a bit. Her apartment had never been particularly clean, but it was noticeably messier now than usual. Day after day of nothing but monotonous work and Maura's continuing absence had left Jane entirely apathetic to her home's appearance. Now, though, she suddenly found herself incredibly preoccupied with Maura's every thought, every impression—she would be displeased with how untidy the living space was. But when Maura sighed impatiently and told her just to sit, Jane wordlessly dropped the empty beer bottle in her hand back down on the coffee table and sat on the couch as far away from Maura as she could possibly get.

Maura had come here with a plan, but it was all falling to pieces. She wanted to talk and for Jane to listen, but now what she wanted to hear more than anything was Jane's voice again. It never would have occurred to her that of all things, she would have missed that voice the most. And just like that, the stony façade was gone. Maura's face and shoulders fell, and she saw a frown tug at Jane's determinedly stoic expression. "Say something," Maura begged in a plaintive whisper.

_You're the one who came here, and you want __me__ to say something?_ Jane thought. Her hands clasped together, and she suppressed the urge to pull her leg up on the couch, lest it make her look too casual. She also bit back the question _what do you want me_ _to say?_ because it sounded too cliché, and too uncaring.

"So…you're leaving Boston?" she asked in a low voice, keeping her eyes glued to the ground.

Maura twisted her own hands together in her lap. "Jane, what you did, it—it scarred me and it hurt me more deeply than you or anyone else will ever comprehend."

Jane had wanted so badly to keep it all together, but here it was: Maura hadn't even been there for two full minutes yet, and tears had already sprung to Jane's eyes. She didn't bother brushing them away for the moment, because she knew there would be more to come. All she could offer was "I know" in a thick voice.

"But I'm not leaving."

The words were delivered calmly, but the feelings they engendered could not have been more dramatic. Jane snapped her head up to look at Maura, not daring to believe she had heard correctly.

Clearing her throat, Maura elaborated: "I'm not leaving Boston, Jane. I'm not leaving you." She reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope containing Jane's letter. "Not after receiving this."

Jane sat up a little straighter, but couldn't bring herself to get her hopes up just yet. After all, while Maura certainly didn't seem as cold as she had been when she'd walked in, she certainly wasn't acting friendly yet. "Why'd you send me that text, then?" Jane croaked, knowing she could never fully explain how much those few simple words had momentarily derailed her life.

"I've been letting the wrong emotions run my life the past few weeks," Maura said. "It just so happened ten days ago, a former associate of mine mentioned a job opening in her district in New York. She asked me if I would be interested in taking it, and I started seriously considering it. Ultimately I sent you that text because I… I hoped it would make you want to talk to me. Why haven't you tried contacting me at all?"

"Maura. Really? I didn't know what to say, I mean there's nothing I _could _say. There's nothing I could do; I can't turn back time. I knew you'd never be able to forgive what I'd done, so why… why bother?"

"That doesn't sound like you," Maura said gently. "The Jane Rizzoli I know doesn't ask 'why bother?' She fights."

Starting to get frustrated, Jane fought to keep her voice calm. Fighting was what had gotten her into this mess. "That Jane was never on the receiving end of one of those glares from you." She looked back at Maura. "How could I face you after that? How could I have the nerve to even speak to you after what I'd done?"

Now it was Maura's turn to look away. "I sent the text before I had checked my mailbox; I went to work without looking in it. And then I got home and there was your letter inside my mailbox, tucked between some bills. At first I thought you'd written it in response to my text, but then I opened it and saw you had written the date on it. I saw you wrote it before I ever thoughtlessly sent you that message." There was no response to this; Jane still felt overwhelmed and had no idea what she was supposed to say. Sensing Jane's discomfort, Maura asked, "Have you spoken with or gone to visit Agent Dean?"

"No," Jane said brusquely.

There was a weighty pause. "I did."

"You—what?"

"During my lunch break today."

"You…you…"

"He's still recuperating from his wound. The bullet very nearly killed him," Maura said matter-of-factly, as if she wished the gunshot _had _been fatal. "He had actually been trying to contact me for quite a while, but I ignored him."

Jane fidgeted. "Why'd you go, then?"

"I need to know something else before I tell you." Maura waved Jane's letter lightly in her hand. "You did a lot of explaining in here, but I want to know more. Anything you can tell me. Anything about that day—about Agent Dean, and Detective Frost, and me."

Considering how long she had worked on that letter, Jane found herself unable to easily recall exactly what it was she had said. She shifted on the couch and pushed some hair out of her face, stalling for quick time. The important thing was not to make Maura wait. Jane worried that despite the doctor's apparently patient attitude, she might get up and leave at any second if she didn't hear what she wanted to. For once Jane wished she could be as collected and ready as Maura, instead of scrambling for words—but as it was, Jane could only get them out as quickly as they could, leading to a very stilted speech s as she tried not to repeat anything she had written.

"I wanted to follow you alone. I knew as well as you did that the structure of the building wasn't safe, and I wanted to endanger as few people as possible, which meant I wanted Frost to wait outside with Korsak and Frankie. And sure, I admit, there's still that immature, stupid, 12-year-old boy part of me that wants to be the hero. Your hero. Alone." Her voice was weak, tired. She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, hating how dumb she knew she sounded. "But Frankie reminded me of what happened the last time I went someplace without backup." She needlessly waved one of her hands, giving Maura a glimpse at the scars Hoyt had left there. "So Frost came inside with me. Then all of a sudden, Dean was there, too. I swear to God, Maura, I didn't ask him to be there. He said he hadn't followed me, so I knew he must have followed Doyle. Dammit, Maura, I swear I nearly shot Dean right then and there. I at least wanted to yell at him, but I couldn't, because it would've blown our entire operation and put you in even more danger. It was so hard to concentrate on Flynn because all I could think about was that if he took a shot at you, Doyle was sure to come up somehow, and Dean was going to do something. I was hoping I'd have enough time to think of how to stop him, but then before I could even start brainstorming, Flynn took that gun out and Doyle…" Jane took a shuddering breath, and the tears began flowing freely again, making for a struggle each time Jane tried to make her words fully, unmistakably comprehensible. "I was furious. Dean _promised_ me he wasn't going to do anything, and then he showed up out of nowhere, guns blazing."

Again dipping a hand into her expansive bag, Maura pulled out a small packet of Kleenex and handed it to Jane. The idea of resisting did not occur to Jane: she graciously took the tissues and used them to blow her nose, opting to wipe away her tears with her hands. Once she'd sufficiently cleaned herself up, Jane resumed her story, slowly balling up the tissues as she spoke.

"I'm a coward, Maura. I know there's a medal attached to my uniform that says I'm a hero, but I'm such a coward. Your dad wouldn't have ever shot me. That's why he aimed at Frost, instead. Don't blame Frost for taking aim—I don't think he'd have fired unless Doyle did first. But Doyle cocked his gun, and I—I wasn't thinking. I should've just shielded Frost. I don't think your dad would've taken a shot if the bullet had to go through me. But instead I…I…" She bit her lip, taking another quivering breath to try and stem back the tears. "I fired a shot. All I could think was here was this mob boss, this murderer, who'd just taken aim at my partner. It would've been against every rule in the book _not _to defend Frost; I just went the wrong way about it. I didn't mean to kill him, Maura, I swear to you, I didn't!"

Her voice broke again as the guilt came thundering back. Months ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about shooting Doyle, even killing him, but suddenly Maura had gotten so attached to him. How did this happen, and when?

Maura's voice broke through the thick wall of remorse: "You left something out."

Jane pulled more tissues out of the packet. "What?"

* * *

><p><em>"Dr. Isles." He looked and sounded surprised to see her, which Maura had been expecting. Her visit had come unannounced, seeing as how quickly she had made up her mind to come. <em>

_ "Agent Dean." She did not ask how he was doing, even though she knew it reflected incredibly poor manners. But she didn't care about his recovery; she needed answers. "You've been trying to get a hold of me for some time now. Why?"_

_ He sat up as much as he could, waiting for Maura to sit down. "You should have at least an idea why, Maura. Have you spoken to Jane at all since…?" He sighed heavily when Maura merely shook her head, looking completely unruffled. "Is that your doing, or hers?"_

_ "Both, I suppose. She hasn't contacted me, and I haven't been reaching out to anyone." _

_ "Look. I wanted to talk to you so that you'd know this wasn't Jane's fault."_

_ "Did she fire the bullet that made him fall?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Then it's her fault, Agent Dean."_

_ "Maura, you're a smart woman. You know that's not the only thing you can take into consideration. Jane must've told you I was in Boston, right?"_

_ Maura bristled, but tried to remain calm. She smoothed out her dress and said, "In addition to that, Jane also told me that she told you about Paddy Doyle being in town. And she told me that you had promised not to do anything with that information unless she gave you the go-ahead, and after what transpired three weeks ago, well, there's only one logical assumption to make."_

_ "That I broke my promise?"_

_ This finally gave Maura pause. She was going to say that Jane must have asked him to come to the burned factory in case Doyle showed up, but_ _it was clear that Dean wasn't joking around. It bewildered _Maura_ that she had never considered his explanation as an alternative. _

_ "Listen, Maura, I'm not proud of what I did, but only because it meant going back on my word to Jane. I don't have a personal connection to you and I do have a professional obligation to track down a man on the FBI's Most Wanted list." Dean sighed again, wincing in pain. "Don't be mad at Jane."_

_ To her surprise, Maura was fighting back tears. She'd only gotten a few words out when the battle became in vain, and she cried softly. "Jane shouldn't have told you."_

_ "Maybe not," Dean said. "But you'd be dead wrong if you thought that meant she gave more of a damn about me than she did about you. God, she kept bringing you into our conversation, even after we'd—! Well, never mind. But all that was important to her was protecting you from Doyle or whoever had tried to hit you with that car. It didn't hardly matter that I was there, and maybe that's just as well, since I put the job ahead of her by breaking my promise." _

_ Maura dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, sniffing loudly. "And you don't think Jane put her job ahead of me by killing my father?"_

_ "I think she put the life of her partner ahead of the safety of a murderer," Dean shot back. "If she'd wanted to kill Doyle, she would've aimed for his heart. She didn't. And what's more, if she really cared about me more than she cared about you, I think she'd have come to my side after all that. Not yours. Doyle almost killed me, Maura—if that ambulance hadn't arrived in time, I'd have bled out. But Jane didn't even look at me. I had to fight to keep my eyes open, but I had no trouble making out the look on Jane's face after she fired that bullet." _

_ Despite herself, Maura asked, "And what'd it look like?" She tried to inject the question with careless disregard, and wound up sounding bitter and venomous. _

_ Dean registered the tone and had a hardened, steely look in his eyes. "She was devastated. She didn't even glimpse in my direction. She just ran to you." _

_ This seemed to have stymied the doctor once and for all, as she could do nothing more than stare at Dean in disbelief. It was all true of course, now that she thought about it—Jane had been there at her side instantly, trying to rectify her actions by treating Doyle's wounds, and Maura had scathingly chased her away. Maura fought to remember Jane's expression when she had yelled at her to leave Doyle alone. At the time, she had been so focused on trying to interpret the words her father had spoken with his dying breaths that she hadn't allowed herself (or wanted) the chance to analyze her closest friend's countenance. But now it was seeping back slowly into her consciousness… the hurt, the concern, the sincere apologetic and empathetic sorrow on Jane's face. Her brown eyes wide, her brow furrowed upwards, her normally steady hands trembling. Jane had shot a number of people on the job in someone else's defense. She had never tried to help them afterwards. _

_ Watching this recollection unfold on Maura's expression, Dean continued: "Jane hasn't been returning any of my calls or emails. I don't blame her. I hate …I hate that this has driven such a wedge between us, but I have to accept it because I did my job. And to be perfectly frank, Maura, I'm not sorry about it. I took out a man with one of the highest body counts in the United States. But I'm getting off topic, sorry." He shook his head, and Maura could not bring herself to meet his eye. "Don't be angry with Jane. Talk to her. I bet if she'd had half a second more to plan, or if she'd been standing half an inch closer to Frost, she would've sooner taken a bullet for him than shot one at Doyle. How would you feel if that had happened? What if Doyle had accidentally killed Jane in his own defense?"_

_ Again, this was something Maura had not thought about but instantly knew was worthy of consideration, if only because it was such a believable possibility. Would she have rounded on her father instead? She could only imagine the dialogue between them …he'd say he hadn't meant to shoot Jane; Maura would retaliate by calling him cold-hearted and horrible. Would it be possible to forgive him if he'd accidentally shot Jane? Would it be wrong to hold a grudge? An actual shiver went down her spine at the thought. Really, that told her all she needed to know. Without another word to Dean, she got to her feet and left his hospital room. _

* * *

><p>After she had relayed this story to Jane (minus the internal thoughts), Maura shrugged. "I wanted to see if your stories matched up. They do, but not so much so that I feel as if you two conspired to come up with an anecdote to placate me and get me back on your side."<p>

Jane was reeling. It was difficult enough at first to make sense of Maura's last sentence, but then she processed what all else she had just said. Jane hadn't even thought about the fact that she had barely reacted when Dean was shot, except to maybe (possibly unfairly) think that he had deserved it. But it was true that as soon as she saw Doyle fall, her instinctive line of action had been to head for Maura.

"Can I ask you something?" Jane whispered.

"Yes."

"Why did…I mean how did…" She issued a short sigh, impatient with her inability to get this across in a straightforward but inoffensive manner. "What'd Doyle do to get in your good graces?"

Maura straightened slightly. Having read Jane's letter, she was prepared for this question, but didn't know if her answer would be satisfactory or not. "It's difficult to explain. I mean, ever since I found out who my biological father was, I wanted nothing to do with him. He has committed unspeakable things, and even if they were against people just as horrible as him, that doesn't make it all right. Of course you can say that he was a product of his environment—the lower echelons of south Boston, and from a mob family. It's very often the case that children who grow up in those situations tend to live the same lifestyles as their parents. But not always. You can't control your circumstances, but I do believe that you can control how you react to them. If Paddy Doyle had really wanted to make something of himself, had really wanted to be my _father_, he could have been."

"I'm sure it wasn't easy," Jane murmured, startled by the things Maura was saying, and how much thought she had put into this.

"I know it wasn't. He tried to tell me how much he loved me, how much he cared about me. But he didn't know how. _You _knew how, Jane."

Jane's eyes widened and her lips pressed tightly together. She had no idea how Maura's train of thought had suddenly led to her, and it made it her nervous, especially as Maura looked ready to cry.

"You know something I realized?" Maura asked in a shaky voice, pitched a bit higher than usual. "Out of all the time we've known each other, all the things we've done together, there are no photographs of the two of us. If someone were to search my house or my computer for pictorial evidence of our friendship, he would find nothing. All my father had were photographs. _You_ gave me this." She held up Jane's letter. "I wasn't surprised to read that you loved me, Jane. It just felt so good to see the words in your handwriting, to know you had intentionally given them to me, and I read it more times than I can count. I think I've known for a while now. Your love for me came out in every thing you did, everything you said. Every look, every touch, every embrace, I _felt _it." Only one tear had fallen, and Maura prevented more by inhaling deeply and turning away from Jane, putting the letter back into her bag. "That's why I couldn't believe it when you shot…"

The rest of the sentence was lost, but Jane doubted she'd have been able to hear it over the sound of her heartbeat anyway. Maura had finally approached the subject Jane had been most anxious about discussing, but now that it had been brought up, she was at a loss for something to say. What _could_ she say, when it seemed as though Maura had just pointed out the hypocrisy in her feelings that'd flared up by Doyle's death?

"Paddy Doyle died with secrets," Maura breathed, trying to regain control of herself. "Secrets he was going to tell me—about my birth mother. That, I think, is what upsets me the most. I hate that he was never straightforward with me, until right at the very end. It seemed as though he was changed …tired. He may have become a man I could tolerate knowing. But I know I would never be able to deal with his lifestyle. And I need to apologize to you, Jane."

"What? For—what?"

"I told you I understood that you needed to do what you needed to do. At the time I imagined it to mean that if the situation arose, it would be your responsibility to take Doyle into custody. But… what happened at the factory was greater than that. Your partner's life was in jeopardy, and you reacted. You did what you had to."

"That's not what I wanted to do, Maura."

Maura shut her eyes. "Damn it, Jane, I know." She opened her eyes again and they were swimming with tears, which abruptly started streaming down her cheeks. "I feel so confused—I understand what you did, but I still don't know that I can f-forgive you for it!"

A good cathartic cry was what she needed right now, because she hadn't been able to cry yet. She had shed tears in front of Agent Dean and her mother, but nobody else, because she too fiercely and proudly guarded her emotions. It was understandable why Dean hadn't tried to comfort her; he felt no remorse for his actions. And deep down, Maura knew her mother hadn't been trying to hurt her or be neglectful in failing to comfort her: the issue was that she, Constance, was so overwhelmed herself and in such turmoil over Patrick's death that grief had consumed her. She certainly was taking it harder than Maura, and her profound unhappiness was just another nail in the coffin of her relationship with Jane. How could she forgive someone who had made her mother hurt so badly? Yet there it was again—how frequently had Jane been there for Maura, as opposed to Constance? How absent had Constance been while her daughter grew up? It was all Jane's doing that Constance had turned around at all, and become the mother she should have been all along. If it hadn't been for Jane, their now-great relationship would in all likelihood not exist. This train of thought distracted Maura from her original realization, which was that she instinctively knew that Jane was the only person who had ever really known how to bring her comfort. She had always known exactly what it was Maura needed.

As if on cue, Jane said, "Please, Maura, I hate seeing you like this. Don't cry over me, I'm not worth it."

In a response garbled by tears and emotion, Maura said, "I' m sorry, it's just that I know if I cry, you'll do something about it!"

This blatant permission—indeed, expectation—obliterated the hesitation Jane had allowed to keep her from doing what she wanted the moment Maura had started to cry. She sat up enough to let her take the step necessary to reach Maura's side of the couch, and pulled the woman into a tight embrace. It was immediately returned with equal ardor, and in spite of herself, Jane began crying as well. She was completely overcome by all the feelings this was bringing on; the heartbreak, the bleak hope for eventual forgiveness or redemption. Aside from that, it was merely incredible to suddenly be this physically close to Maura when they had been so distant for the last few weeks. Maura's chest was heaving with emotion against Jane's, which was doing the same, and her warm body pressed so tightly against her own was starting to slowly ebb away the coldness that had caked into an invisible layer over Jane.

"I let you down," Jane said in a broken voice, knowing the words would sound empty and could not be properly called appropriate. "I thought—you should always be able to trust me to protect you, and that day, I didn't. I'm so… I'm so sorry, Maura."

A streak of fear tore through her when Maura pulled away, but it was quelled by the realization that it was only a small distance, and Maura, while somber, did not look angry. "I know you are, Jane," she whispered. "Just… you said in your letter …" She bit her lip, and her hand drifted upwards from Jane's shoulder to the back of her neck. Jane felt goose bumps rise on her skin as Maura's fingers curled gently in her hair. "You said that you loved me… but you also said actions speak louder than words." In a voice that was little more than a breath, she said, "Prove it. Show me."

The enormity of this moment nearly crushed Jane, as if it would decide her entire fate—and in a way, it would. Whatever she did would either make or break her, but she was still too winded by all of this. Disparate thoughts ran across her mind, tenuously connected but still driving her mad. Maura hadn't forgiven her yet. While she acknowledged Jane's love for her, she hadn't reflected it. But she had held her so tightly. Jane had been responsible for her father's death. As a result, they hadn't spoken in weeks. Maura had considered moving to another state. Yet she had declared her intent to stay …because she wasn't going to leave Jane. But she was still upset, and rightfully so. Jane still wasn't even sure if she could forgive herself yet.

She acted mostly to give her mind a second to breathe, to just focus on a task and not have all these thoughts make her go crazy. Jane put her arms around Maura again, pulling her closer. Gone was the frenzied, sorrowful feeling that had accompanied their last embrace: this was calmer and more intimate. For the most part, their crying had subdued, but one stubborn tear still hung closely to Maura's eye. When it started a slow descent, like a raindrop on a window, Jane met it tenderly with her lips. One of her hands rested on Maura's hip, while the other had gravitated towards the back of her neck as Jane left two more gentle kisses on the well-worn tear track of Maura's cheek. It was incredible how soft Maura's skin was, and Jane would give anything to find out exactly what her mouth felt like. She pulled back slightly, looking into Maura's eyes for tacit permission. She got the distinct impression that if she tried to kiss the woman in front of her, Maura would not object. But it didn't feel right—not yet.

Instead, Jane shifted to kiss the tear track on the other side of Maura's face, then whispered into her ear: "I love you so much, but I can't do this. I can't do this right now."

_Good_, Maura thought to herself. "Okay," she said in a shaky breath. Her hand brushed against Jane's knee, and Jane moved away. Maura sniffed and brushed at one of her eyes with the back of her wrist before picking up her bag and getting to her feet. She figured she ought not to be surprised that her legs still felt a bit unsteady, but she did her best to walk over to the door. Jane remained on the couch, and didn't even turn around until Maura quietly said her name.

Standing in the doorframe, Maura said, "You know I'm not very good at dealing with or expressing my emotions. So you must know I can't be sure whether dealing with all of this would be harder or easier if I weren't in love with you, too."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: So I feel like I could technically end this here and be happy with it, but...I kind of want to write more. Also I want to write an alternate version where Jane _does _step in front of Frost and catch Doyle's bullet. I really need something to fill my time before the 3rd season, haha.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Happy New Year's everyone! Thank you for all the support- I hope this update warrants it. I had written more, then quickly realized this chapter was getting far too long already, so... I guess this story is going to wind up being twice as long as I had originally envisioned.

* * *

><p>Jane got no sleep that night. She didn't even get off the couch for probably thirty minutes, because every time she tried to stand up, her legs felt too unstable to support her. So in defeat, she remained lying on the couch, trembling as a myriad of emotions continued to course mercilessly through her. Her hand traveled up to stroke the back of her neck, smoothing down the short hairs that had stood on end when Maura's fingers had been there. At the time, she had been so utterly lost in the moment that she hadn't fully appreciated the tenderness of the move, the subtle desire behind it. Sometimes she was overcome with how senselessly beautiful Maura was.<p>

Every now and then a short stupor would descend upon Jane, and she would forget briefly where she was or why she was just sitting there. But then she would recall the feeling of Maura's body in her arms, of her skin beneath Jane's lips, the saltiness of her tears on Jane's tongue. Heat consumed her at the mere memory of their physical closeness, and the biggest bomb of all: …_if I weren't in love with you, too_.

Maura was in love with her. How long had she felt that way? Had Maura felt it as a long, tortuously slow burn, like Jane? Or had the realization only recently struck her? Actually the more she thought about it, the more Jane believed that the latter was partly true of her as well. It felt as though she had been pining after Maura for months, building a crush that terrified her with its implications. If she was completely honest with herself, she had found women attractive before, but had never pursued anything largely because of her Catholic upbringing which stipulated marrying a man and having many of his children. Her ability to engage in romantic relationships with men made her feel that perhaps she could be the (straight) woman her parents had always hoped she would grow up to be. But it had become harder and harder to ignore one Maura Isles. Everything about her sent chills down Jane's spine: the gentle timbre of her voice, her soft laugh, her penetrating hazel eyes, her subtle perfume, her ridiculous intelligence. It seemed as though every day, Jane found some new aspect of Maura to obsess over, be it something physical or personality-related. Granted Maura had her flaws—that google mouth could get annoying now and then, and her constant inability to differentiate between literal and figurative sayings was starting to lose its quirkiness and become tiresome. But those were such minor things compared to the compatibility between her and Jane that was somehow simultaneously effortless and strenuous. The tension had finally broken between them with that one shot at Doyle…

In the past few weeks, Jane had realized just how hard she really had fallen for Maura. She had taken the woman's presence in her life for granted, and had not taken into account how drastic an impact her absence would leave. Jane was restless, and unable to fully concentrate on her work. Out of sight, out of mind? Complete crap. Despite knowing how fully she had betrayed Maura, and despite worrying that forgiveness would never be possible, Jane had sat by helplessly as her love for Maura rushed unapologetically onwards.

But the wait was over. In one very bold, very frank letter, Jane had expressed her feelings with unmistakable clarity. And Maura had returned them. Lord knew how they'd overcome Doyle's death, but Jane was determined to do whatever was necessary to get Maura to like her again. Her stomach twisted itself into anxious knots as she thought about the next day. She and Maura would be back at work together again, after all of this. Amid the fear and concern and self-disgust, Jane allowed a small sliver of hope to worm its way into her consciousness.

She finally rolled off the couch and walked towards the peg on the door with a dog leash slung over it. "C'mon, Jo," she said, smiling as her loyal pet came bounding over. "Let's go for a late-night walk."

Jane didn't get back to her apartment until around midnight, at which time Maura was still lying on her back in her own bed, in the exact same position she'd gotten into as soon as she'd returned to her house. Initially it had been a measure to calm herself down: a terrible migraine had overtaken her on the drive home, and she didn't even check in on her father before taking some Advil and going to bed.

It had been very surreal having her adopted father present so soon after her birth father had died. Shortly after Constance's near-fatal experience, Maura had managed to get a hold of her dad and he'd flown in from Tanzania as quickly as possible. In a move that wound up saving a lot of people from a lot of awkward discomfort, Angela had temporarily moved in with Frankie while Maura's father took the guest house. He was a good man, her father. All he'd wanted was the best for his daughter, and he had provided it the best way he knew how. His was a case of benign neglect: perhaps he had not been the most demonstrative person regarding his feelings, but Maura knew deep down that he cared very deeply for her and would never do anything wrong. Lately she'd been wondering how much she took after him in this regard—how many of her feelings had been left unexpressed? How often had she assumed that people (well, Jane) would just be able to know how she felt, without her having to say anything?

And then this horrible accident had happened. Not Constance getting hit by the car; that was no accident. Doyle's death. Maura struggled long and hard to decide whether she had been right to lash out at Jane so quickly. Shouldn't she have been relieved to have this murderer of the streets? Yes he had fathered her, but he hadn't raised her. He hadn't been willing to change enough to be there for her. Once she'd found out his identity, Maura had always felt safer whenever he _wasn't _around. This was a little odd, she knew, because his basic motive in contacting her was to protect her. But she didn't need Doyle for protection when she had Jane. Doyle popped up intermittently, never welcome, and always bringing with him a dull sense of dread that pervaded Maura's very being. The only feeling that was even comparable to this aching dread was the one that had welled up in the past three Jane-less weeks.

Maura had made the mistake of assuming that if she avoided places she associated with Jane, she wouldn't think of her. She could sidestep the pain. It had been part of her motive in taking off work, and furthermore she stayed away from the Dirty Robber in addition to any of the restaurants or stores she had been in with Jane. But it was futile. Her relationship with Jane wasn't stuck in those places; it was everywhere. Maura could no sooner escape her longing to see Jane than she could escape the sky—it covered absolutely everything.

But the desire to see Jane was confusingly mixed with fear and anger about what had happened regarding Doyle. She recalled the conversation they had had the second time Jane came by the hospital, her only visitor.

_"We'll get him_, _Maura, don't worry."_

_ "I'm not sure I want you to anymore…"_

_ There was an uncomfortable pause. "That's not really up to me." _

_ "I know. You need to do what you have to do."_

_ "Look. I won't tell you that it'll be okay when I don't know that it will. But I am here for you." _

_ Her voice was respectfully low, and cracked with emotion. Maura held out a battered, wounded hand, and Jane clasped it between both of her own. That simple gesture instilled such a sense of peace and comfort in Maura's hectic world, and she found herself wondering what she would ever do without Jane Rizzoli. Who would be her anchor? Who would build her up when she felt down? Who would listen, who would laugh, who would love her? _

Nobody. Nobody could replace Jane.

Jane had always been the stronger one, so maybe it wasn't that surprising that she was the one who had finally re-initiated contact. True, Maura thought she had been first with that tactless text message, but Jane had really delivered. After all of the turmoil she had been experiencing recently, Maura found it truly difficult to imagine that she had any tears left inside her, but Jane's letter had made her weep. It had been so honest, so open, so sorry. The words stimulated Maura's affection for Jane, hating that it had been marred, yet also making her feel as though perhaps their cause wasn't a lost one after all.

Her reasons for going to Jane's apartment that night had been two fold: she wanted to clear the air between them, but mostly, she hoped to hear Jane speak some of the things she had written: _I'm in love with you_. Reading the words had been wonderful beyond anything Maura could have dreamt up, and it had suddenly become extremely important to hear them spoken aloud. It had never been her intent to declare her own love for Jane that night. The words had just come out, making for what Maura was, in retrospect, embarrassed to call a melodramatic move. She supposed somewhere along the line, her subconscious had felt it unfair to leave Jane without echoing the sentiments that the detective had so bravely shared.

Maura gently touched one of her cheeks, shivering at the recollection of Jane's lips there. She had never been kissed like that. Jane had basically been given permission to do what she wanted, and that was the move she had made: kissing away Maura's tears. It wasn't possessive, it wasn't inappropriately passionate, it wasn't calculated. It was a sweet expression of her sorrow and her guilt, but above all, her love for Maura. The fact that she didn't take it any further told Maura two very important things: firstly, that Jane was even more respectful of the gravity of their situation than Maura had thought; and secondly, that if there had been any doubt before, Maura was dying to eventually feel Jane's lips on hers.

Groaning lightly, she turned on her side and shut off the lamp on her nightstand. Tomorrow was going to be interesting.

* * *

><p>"How bad is it?"<p>

"Bad. You won't go down there and talk to her since you're the one who took the shot, and Frost won't go down there to talk to her, because you only _took _that shot in his defense, and Frankie won't go down there because he's your brother and thinks Maura doesn't want any contact with any of the Rizzoli's!"

Jane sighed shortly. "I meant the newest victim, Korsak. In the case."

"Well I don't know, because no one will go down to our chief medical examiner for her input!"

"And you won't go down there because…?"

"Because I can't be the one always making the trip, Jane. I know what happened at the factory was obviously difficult and thorny for you two to deal with, but if you guys can't get your act together for work, BPD is going to be in for a lot of trouble. Our top detective and our chief medical examiner _need _to be on speaking terms." When this elicited no response, Korsak continued: "Jane, come on. It's like riding a bike! You crash and fall off, but that doesn't mean you never get on it again!"

"Shooting your best friend's dad isn't comparable to falling off a bike," Jane muttered. She knew that Korsak was just trying to help, but she was still too afraid to be alone with Maura so soon after their conversation—especially at work.

"Look, maybe I'm a bastard for asking this, but when did you start calling Paddy Doyle her _dad_? Weren't you the one always putting the emphasis on his only contribution being the sperm?"

Jane snorted and looked away. "Yeah. Yeah, Korsak. But I think Doyle was trying to turn it around—his relationship with Maura, I mean. When I shot him, I took away his chance to redeem himself in her eyes."

"Redemption? Too little too late, Jane." He held out a thick case file and asked, "Are you going to take care of this, or am I going to be your middle man again?"

With a grimace, Jane took the file and headed for the elevator. She passed Frankie in the hallway, and noting where she was headed, he hopefully asked if she was on her way to talk with Maura.

"Just about the case," she said, getting into the elevator.

"Try talking to her, Jane. Kiss and make up already, please! Ma's killing me."

Jane knew Frankie hadn't really meant anything by the "kiss" part of that statement, but her heartbeat spiked at the word anyway. She glanced up just as the elevator doors were closing, but Frankie was already walking away, and too soon Jane had reached Maura's floor. Tightly clutching the case file in one hand, Jane clenched the other into a fist and resolutely walked down the hall to the lab. With each step, her façade of confidence and control began to crumble. Any second now, Maura would come into view, and they would be forced to confront what had happened last night. All the cards were on the table now: both of them knew they were loved by the other.

Something that had kept Jane up all night was her concern that perhaps she should have followed Maura. What if she had missed a golden opportunity? What if Maura had expected Jane to come running after her, to talk more or to kiss her? She had dropped a bombshell, then just left. _Left_! Sure, Maura sometimes struggled with what Jane perceived to be obvious social customs, but even _she _must have been able to appreciate how awkward that was, and how uncomfortable work was going to be. They shouldn't have left things on that note, knowing they'd have to see each other the next day.

Finally, Jane reached the windows of the lab and saw Maura sitting at her computer. Standing stock still for a few moments, Jane guessed that Maura hadn't noticed her yet, and she took the time to try and collect herself. She also couldn't help observing that while Maura studied the screen, a finger curled itself around a thick strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. _She's playing with her hair_, Jane thought. _Sexually frustrated, Dr. Isles? Argh! Rude, Rizzoli!_ Just then, Maura happened to glance in her direction, and Jane quickly tried to act as if she had just shown up.

Maura stood up as Jane walked into the room, and each of them waited for the other to say something. Jane wondered if Maura was facing the same internal crisis as she was, trying to decide whether to address her formally or as a friend. The moment before she attempted to test the waters with a "Hello, Dr. Isles," Maura spoke up.

"Jane, I'm glad it's you," she said softly.

Taken somewhat off guard, Jane fought to maintain a neutral expression as she approached the table holding their victim. "Yeah, me too," she said in a rush. "So, uh, did Dr. Pike's notes and stuff make sense?"

"Yes, I reviewed them yesterday."

"Right, right."

"This is the girl Detective Frost and Frankie found last night."

"Oh, yeah, Korsak was just telling me. You figured out cause of death?"

Maura raised an eyebrow, and Jane actually spared a glance for their victim, who she only just noticed had a clear bullet hole through his forehead. "Oh."

"Of course, I don't like to jump to conclusions," Maura sighed. "But after my initial inspection, I failed to notice any other abrasions, fractures, or otherwise noteworthy wounds which might explain his death." She glanced up. "Detective."

She was taking her behavioral cues from Jane, who folded her arms and clamped her eyes tightly shut for just a moment. Already she was screwing this all up.

"Maura," she said in a gentle, pleading voice. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"Excuse me?" Maura asked, her brow knitting together.

"Tell me what you think, yes or no."

Maura leaned over their victim's body, pretending to study one of the incisions she had made. "Objectively speaking, of course you're not a bad person. You put others before yourself, you adhere strictly to the law and enforce it, and you …do all within your power to stay loyal to the people you love."

"You don't think I've killed too many people on the job?" Jane asked, her eyes glued to the wound on their victim.

There was an ominous silence before Maura answered: "No." She looked up to see Jane biting her lip and fidgeting. "Do you?"

Jane took a deep breath to steady herself. "Sometimes I—I wonder afterwards if I moved too quickly. It keeps me up nights, worrying if I made the wrong decision." Her voice broke, and she couldn't believe she was about to cry in front of Maura again, but here came the tears. "What if—you know, what if I didn't take the shot? What if he—or whoever, she—was bluffing, or had missed? Why is it always my first instinct to pull the trigger?"

"Jane, it's not," Maura said softly, walking around the end of the table to be on the same side as Jane. It was obvious that even though Jane could technically be talking about any number of people, she was dancing around the subject of Doyle. This was the closest she was ever going to get to asking Maura outright for vindication, and Maura found herself at a loss for words or actions. Jane's head was tilted away from her; she'd be staring at the floor if her eyes had been open, but they remained largely shut as tears continued to be squeezed from them. Maura lifted an arm as if to stroke Jane's, but she changed her mind and instead let it hang by her side as she foraged blindly onwards with speech: "A bad person—a bad cop—would enter every situation firing off bullets. You don't. And you don't take a shot unless it's warranted and you can't see any other way out of it."

"I could've found one," Jane insisted in a tone resembling a remorseful whine. "That day, I could've found another way."

"But you didn't, Jane." The doctor steeled herself as Jane finally lifted her head and looked at Maura, her big brown eyes sheen over with tears. "Again, objectively speaking, I know you did the right thing. You are not a bad person. Patrick Doyle was."

"He loved you."

"That may be true, but it doesn't exonerate him from the atrocious crimes that he committed. You stopped him from ever having the chance to apologize to me again, or try to build a relationship with me. You stopped him from telling me who my real mother is. But you also stopped him from murdering other people. You stopped him from robbing other families of their fathers."

"But he only killed people who deserved it," Jane persisted. "He's—I mean, isn't he like me that way? He didn't kill anyone who was innocent."

"He took the law into his own hands," Maura said. "His own violent, cruel hands. Don't get romantic about mob life, Jane. All it does is feed the legends Doyle grew up on that made him want to be a killer. Do you think I could ever forgive him if he had harmed Detective Frost? Or you? Crime bosses weren't his only victims, Jane. You and I both know that several of your peers lost their lives crossing that thin blue line around Doyle. I almost lost you trying to do the same."

"But Maura, I—"

"Dammit, Jane! Please stop trying to come up with reasons why I should be upset with you! Do you _want _me to be mad at you?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

"All right then!"

"It's just…"

"Just what, Jane?"

"Last night. We said things. Big things."

"Yes. Yes we did."

Jane stared at her. "So… what now? Are we just going to leave it?"

"Is that what you want?" Maura asked calmly.

"Well—no."

Maura sighed. "In light of recent events, I thought perhaps it would be difficult to envision pursuing any kind of relationship with you, if not impossible. As you're well aware, I'm not accustomed to letting emotions run my life, and I'm afraid that's what I let happen on that day. By giving myself some distance, I was able to rationalize and reason that your actions had been appropriate for the circumstances, and if I were to take Doyle's side over yours, I would be condoning his life's work."

"Objectively speaking."

"Yes."

Jane took a small step forwards, reaching for Maura's hands and clutching them both, drawing them upwards between her and the startled doctor. "Maura, I can't have you looking at me, at us, objectively all the time. Love isn't supposed to be objective. That's the point. That's what makes it unique for every couple. I need to know if you can still love me on a subjective level." Her voice shook as much as her hands as she tried to read Maura's expression, which appeared somber but not disapproving or necessarily angry. "I need to know if you can love me in spite of what I've done to you."

"What you've done to me?" Maura whispered. "I understand what you're getting at, Jane, but your point of reference is frustratingly small."

"What d'you mean?" Jane asked hurriedly.

"You have never done anything to intentionally hurt me. You have never neglected me. You have suffered and put pain before pleasure on my account more than once. You've been my shoulder to cry on, my champion, and my cheerleader. Before I met you, I was content to keep my feet solidly on the ground—and although I admit that I prefer keeping reality in check, it is nice to metaphorically let my head rest in the clouds now and then. You taught me how to do that." She gripped Jane's hands more tightly, never dropping her gaze from those soulful brown eyes. "I know you think that you betrayed my trust, but the truth of the matter is Doyle betrayed it long before you ever did. And unlike you, he did it consciously."

Before Jane had a chance to even begin thinking about how to respond, they jumped apart when Jane's phone vibrated noisily in her pocket. She reached for it automatically, scanning the text Frost had sent her. "They've got another suspect. I need to check him out." She looked up to see Maura standing away from her, hands on the table by the victim's legs. Hastily wiping her tears away with the back of her arm, Jane asked, "Look, can we get lunch later? Maybe talk some more?"

"I have plans."

"Oh. Okay. All right. Then I guess I'll…be going."

As she was about to leave, Maura blurted out, "Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if I could come to your apartment after dinner?" She ascertained by Jane's raised eyebrows and widened eyes that while maybe not presumptuous, the request was still surprising. "I would ask you to come over, but my parents are still with me, and…"

Not initially sure why that was a problem, Jane nonetheless said, "Right, sure, yeah! Yes, come over whenever you can." She started backing towards the door again. "I'll just be home, so… come over any time." Jane was a few steps outside the room when she heard Maura call her name. "Yes?" she asked eagerly, backtracking to the doorway.

It looked as though Maura hadn't meant to say anything, but now felt pressured to do so. "Just in case there was any doubt …regardless of everything that's happened, Jane, I really do love you."

_Go. Kiss her. NOW. _

No sooner had this thrilling thought occurred to Jane, then two lab techs suddenly entered the lab through a pair of doors on the opposite side of the room. One of them handed Maura a thin sheaf of papers, while the other stood close by, apparently with a question on his lips. He was looking at Jane as if waiting for her to leave, and inwardly cursing her bad luck, Jane turned to do so. But before making yet another exit, she said, "Dr. Isles."

"Yes, Detective?"

"That, uh…that thing you just said? Me too."

"I know."

The words would have been enough, but Jane felt weak at the sight of Maura finally, _finally _smiling at her. Yes it was hesitant and yes it was restrained, but it was undeniably a warm smile, directed at her, Jane Rizzoli. When Jane reflected it, Maura felt her grin widen slightly, and she was amazed at how good it felt. There was no guilt associated with it, no remorse. It was nice just to be able to smile again.

Jane was grateful for a difficult case that kept her preoccupied for most of the day. She'd been working steadily since the incident with Doyle, but she felt a renewed sense of purpose since hearing Maura's appraisal of her work. Culpability had translated into commendation, and while she would forever be plagued with doubts about her actions in some cases, she could feel assured that overall, Boston was a safer place because of her dedication to her job.

Once the workday was over, though, she went through hell. Not the same kind of hell that had imprisoned her in a windowless box of shame and self-reproach for the last three weeks, but the anxious hell of waiting. The year-long, then month-long, then week-long wait for Christmas. The wait for that first (and only) family trip to Disneyland as a kid. The wait for high school graduation to end, ushering old classmates out of her life and bringing exciting new people and things in their stead. Each of these anxious waiting periods varied in longevity, repetition, and payoff, but none of them could compare to the agony of waiting for Maura's arrival at her apartment that night. Adding to the torment of it all was not knowing exactly when she planned to come, although perhaps that was just as well—if she had said 8:00 and was late, Jane would've gone mad worrying about the implications of it all.

To try and keep busy, Jane attempted to clean up a bit. She started off well, but then turned on the television for background noise, which quickly became foreground noise. A particularly violent college basketball game kept Jane glued to the couch, forgotten rag in hand as she checked the clock every few minutes and commercial break. Twice she received a false alarm: the first was a phone call from her mother, the second a text from Tommy. Both were treated with probably a bit more brusqueness than was called for, but Jane couldn't help it. Her hopes had risen both times, only to plummet so hard at seeing it wasn't Maura that it felt as though a lead ball was being dropped into her stomach.

It wasn't until around 10:30 that Maura texted her: _Sorry it's so late. Can I still come over?_

Earlier, Jane had planned on letting the text sit for a minute or two, so Maura could at least be subjected to just a fraction of the anxiousness she had put Jane through. But in her eagerness to just get the woman over as quickly as possible, Jane forwent her original strategy and immediately responded: _Of course! _

_Great_. _See you soon_.

Even though she had showered earlier, Jane returned quickly to the bathroom to sponge away the nervous sweat that had been accumulating for the last couple of hours. She put on a pair of dark jeans and a rust colored V-neck shirt, not wanting to appear overly casual or overly formal. Somehow Maura always showed up looking appropriate for any kind of occasion, while Jane was consistently unprepared for proper attire. Maura looked amazing in anything, from sweats to the fanciest of her expensive dresses. Of course recently, she had started wondering what exactly Maura would look like underneath those clothes—but almost instantly she felt ashamed for thinking about it. This was hardly the time or the place, and she reached forward to grip the bathroom sink tightly as tried figuratively to get a grip on herself.

"I need a drink," she muttered. _Just something to calm myself down_.

She knew just what she needed, too. A meager beer wasn't going to do it—she needed whiskey. Jane went to her kitchen and reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels, a brand she rarely went for except in times of desperate need. Actually she had succumbed to it a few times during the last couple of weeks, but that had been to help her feel anything besides tormenting guilt and abandonment. Now she needed it to try and calm her nerves, and if Jack couldn't do it, nobody could. Bypassing a glass, she drank straight out of the bottle. And man, that metaphor would never get old: it felt like liquid fire going right down her throat.

Jane jumped and nearly dropped the bottle when she heard someone knocking at her door. It couldn't be Maura already, could it?

_Oh. Yup. It could_.

"Sorry," Maura said, stepping inside. "I suppose I should've told you that when I thought to text you, I was only a few blocks away."

"Oh," Jane said, trying to mask her surprise. "Oh, no, yeah, that's all right." She told Maura to take a seat somewhere and hurriedly went to shut off the television.

By some miracle of nature, Jane was still overwhelmed by Maura's beauty every time she saw her. You'd think she would've gotten used to it by now, but nope. It didn't matter that until recently, Jane had seen Maura every day. It seemed as though her remembrance of the doctor's features were only ever half-formed, never fully doing her justice. Aside from that, various outfits and hairstyles served to highlight different traits, and Jane had quickly learned to pick up on even the least noticeable variances. Take this evening, for example: Maura was wearing a relatively low-cut black shirt that hugged her form, accentuating her ample chest without looking crude. Actually what the low-cut aspect of the shirt showed off best were Maura's collar bones. Jane wasn't sure exactly how to explain even to herself why she found that part of Maura's body so lovely (perhaps it was because there was only so much of that body she could admire openly, leading to an excessive obsession with otherwise unremarkable pieces of her anatomy). Perhaps it was the perfect symmetry of the collar bones, directly halved by a silver pendant hanging around Maura's neck. Her sleeves were three-quarter length, something else that inexplicably turned Jane on. They put Maura's delicious forearms on display, firm and leading to slender, dexterous hands. As usual Maura was wearing high-heeled shoes, a fashion choice Jane knew was partly responsible for the insanely toned legs that were currently covered by a pair of fitted, gray slacks. All in all, it was an outfit that was far from revealing—but therein lay part of the attraction. An attraction Jane still felt somewhat guilty for feeling.

Maura had seated herself by Jane's kitchen counter, staring curiously at the bottle of Jack Daniel's that had been left out. Embarrassed to have been caught with it, Jane walked back to put it away, but Maura beat her to the punch.

Picking up and inspecting the bottle, Maura asked, "Do you know where the word whiskey comes from?"

"Uh…no, I guess I don't," Jane said, standing behind the counter and waiting for Maura to hand her the bottle. "Never really thought about it before."

"It's an Anglicization of the Celtic words _uisce beathe_," Maura explained. "Literally translated, it means the 'water of life.'"

"Huh," Jane snorted. "I'd have thought it would be more like the fire of life."

"Are you referring to its taste?"

"Yes…haven't you ever tried whiskey before?"

Maura shook her head. "I had an uncle with a fondness for Scotch, but mixing his drinks was as close as I ever came to trying it."

Jane reached for the still-open cupboard and pulled out a shot glass, setting it in front of Maura. "Go ahead. No time like the present."

"No, I don't think I'd like it," Maura said, now trying to hand the bottle back to Jane.

But Jane just smiled at her. "Come on, what kind of scientific approach is that?"

"I know the etymology of the word, isn't that enough?"

"Really?"

"Well—I will if you will."

"No, no, I've already imbibed."

"Jane, this is ridiculous!"

"All right, all right." Jane pulled down another shot glass, took the bottle out of Maura's hands, and poured two shots. She had to smile at the dainty way in which Maura tried to pick up the tiny glass, looking at it doubtfully. "Here's to you," Jane murmured before downing the shot. She slammed her glass back down on the counter in time to see Maura taking a hesitant sip of the whiskey. "Maura! Come on, haven't you ever done a shot before? One gulp!"

Rather than risk having Jane knock it down her throat for her, Maura quickly complied. She coughed heavily as the drink went burning down her gullet, and she wondered if the feeling were at all analogous to what a sword-swallower at a carnival would experience. Her eyes swam momentarily with hot tears as she handed the glass back to Jane.

"Well, at least now you've tried it," Jane said, doing her best not to laugh as she capped the bottle and returned it to the cupboard.

"Would you like to know where I was for lunch today?" Maura asked abruptly.

A long pause confirmed that the question was not rhetorical. Still, somewhat thrown by the sudden change of topic, Jane said, "Um—sure?"

"I was with my father. My adopted father, Desmond Isles. He's been in town with me these last couple of weeks to be with me and my mother as she recuperates." She crossed her legs and a hand went up to run itself through her hair as she tried to focus, tried to say precisely the right thing. Keenly aware of the fact that Jane was staring directly at her, Maura looked down at the countertop and proceeded: "My dad is not a bad guy. He's respectable, he's intelligent, he's kind. He's just—distant. So much of my childhood was spent with him in the background, I think because he didn't understand children and didn't know how to interact with me. I never realized …I never thought…"

She was silent for so long that Jane prompted her: "Thought what, Maura?"

Maura sniffed loudly and raised her head to catch Jane's eye. "My mother felt well enough to have dinner with us, and that's when we had it all out. It's all right, everything is all right, but I never was aware—they knew Paddy Doyle fathered me."

Jane shifted uncomfortably, trying to gauge Maura's feelings. So far Maura had managed to refrain from crying, and Jane silently prayed that that would remain the case. She wasn't sure she could handle another sob-fest from either of them.

"I won't go into it now," Maura whispered. "But that was part of it, another part of why I wanted so desperately to speak with Doyle again. He had visited my mother in the hospital, and she had recognized his voice. I wanted to know the connection but was afraid to ask her, in case it upset her. But she—tonight she brought it up." She took a deep breath to steady herself, leaning slightly against the counter. "I've always been so caught up in studying dead bodies, but I never bothered to look into dead bodies I couldn't see—I mean, my adopted ancestry. Genealogy is more related to anthropology and sociology than science; I mean, it's a hobby for so many people. My dad—I never knew my dad lost innocent family members to gangsters. They were collateral damage."

"To Doyle?"

"No. But in my dad's opinion, that violence was all the same. When he and my mother agreed to adopt me, he said he wanted to get me as far away from that crime life as possible. He wanted me to get the best education possible, to travel across Europe, to never even know a _hint _of my real father's past. I think, though, that my dad was haunted by my association to the mob for years. That's why it was hard for him to get close to me. Or…" She shrugged. "Or he really _didn't _know how to interact with children. Regardless…" This time it was more of a sigh, not breath to try and control herself. "I know he loved me. And I've always been thrilled to see him because of that. And now that my mother is more involved in my life, he's vowed to do the same, and that's all… that's all because of you, Jane. Because you had more courage than I ever did, and you told my mother what I'd always wanted to."

"It wasn't my place," Jane mumbled.

"Jane, I'm glad you did it."

"Did they tell you who your birth mother is?"

Maura bit her lip. "They were going to."

"But…?"

Furrowing her brow, Maura averted her gaze again, saying, "I don't know what's come over me, but suddenly it didn't seem so important anymore. Desmond and Constance Isles are my parents. I will accept no substitutes. And one more thing—my mother said she heard Patrick Doyle telling her to live for me. She said the only way she could do that was if I was happy again, and Jane—Jane, I don't know how to be happy without you, even when I hated you."

In an instant, Jane was on Maura's side of the counter, pulling her into an embrace.

"I need you," Jane said in a husky whisper, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Maura's. "And I hate it when you hate me, even if I deserve it."

With a shaky laugh, Maura said, "I hate it when I have to hate you."

_Please, tell me you forgive me_.

_Actions speak louder than words_.

Fueled by equal parts pain, desire, love, and whiskey, Maura pulled Jane down into a fierce kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: So...this was hard to write. I really wanted to strike the right chord without ruining the characters as I established them, and I hope I succeeded somewhat in that vein. That's why it took me a bit longer to get this one out/why I had time to start that alternate version, haha. Anyway, this will be the last chapter.

* * *

><p>Fueled by equal parts pain, desire, love, and whiskey, Maura pulled Jane down into a fierce kiss. The move had been involuntary, startling even Maura, who was not accustomed to letting her body act before her brain caught up. But quickly enough she couldn't be bothered to think about how exactly they had reached this point—all that mattered was that they had. She had stood up off her chair, maneuvering herself to better clutch at Jane's tall, lean body and bring it closer to her own, delirious with the pleasure of at last feeling the warm wetness of Jane's mouth against hers. She was cognizant of nothing but the pure gratification of Jane moaning against her lips, finally truly responding with the passion Maura had long suspected of simmering just beneath the detective's reserved surface.<p>

Jane had to admit that of the many times she had fantasized about kissing Maura, it hadn't been like this. She had imagined it would be soft, gentle, curious; nothing like the animalistic fervor Maura had just initiated. But Jane certainly wasn't complaining: on the contrary, she had just turned Maura around, boosting her to sit on the counter as Jane gripped the back of her neck to kiss her more deeply. One hand wandered to Maura's ass, pushing against it to add in Maura's endeavor for more contact. Positioned as she was, Maura had to settle for attempting to satiate the inferno between her legs by grinding against Jane's clothed abdomen, which wasn't quite enough. With a cry of aroused frustration, Maura clenched her hands into fists and threw her arms around Jane's neck, breathing heavily.

"Please," she choked out between dry sobs. "_Please!_"

"Please what?" Jane asked, far from teasing her but honestly needing Maura to be more specific.

"Take me," Maura said between deep breaths. She pressed her lips against Jane's once more, and both of them felt another surge of desire. "Let me stay."

"Are you sure?" Jane whispered, trying to catch her breath.

But Maura didn't give her the chance: "Oh God, I've never been more sure of anything." Clumsily grabbing two fistfuls of Jane's shirt, Maura pulled her in for another searing kiss, desperate for as much contact as possible.

Maura had not planned on doing anything like this at all when she'd asked to come to Jane's apartment that night. Somewhere vaguely in the back of her mind she thought they'd have a discussion about how their feelings for each other might complicate their friendship and the events of the last few weeks. At most she had allowed herself to envision possibly kissing Jane goodnight, but nothing like this. The instinct to latch onto Jane and kiss her so savagely had just descended upon Maura as if out of nowhere. She could no more bring herself to ignore the prompting than she could have willed her heart to stop beating.

For Jane's part, this was almost an out-of-body experience. She couldn't believe this was actually happening, that Maura Isles was kissing her in Jane's kitchen, as heartily as though several lives hung in the balance. Maura's actions were far more intoxicating than the whiskey, and Jane got the feeling that they would hurt (physically) more afterwards, too—in addition to the sharp nails that threatened to tear through the thin shirt Jane was wearing, Maura hadn't removed her heeled shoes, and the sharp tips dug into the small of Jane's back.

"Take this off," Maura whispered urgently, tugging at the hem of Jane's shirt.

It didn't occur to Jane for a moment to disobey, but she found herself wishing Maura would take her top off as well. She felt she was in no position to make requests for her own pleasure, and was half-expecting Maura to back off at any given second. But backing off was the last thing on Maura's mind once Jane had quickly removed her shirt: barely sparing a glance for the breasts that were still confined by an athletic bra, Maura yanked Jane closer again for another kiss. She let out a soft moan at the feel of Jane's strong, bare back underneath her fingers, but quickly shifted one hand up to the back of Jane's head, bringing her impossibly closer. With a growing sense of impatience, Maura teased Jane's mouth open by sucking lightly on her lower lip. She could feel a shiver pass through Jane and transfer into her when their tongues made contact a second later, and Maura nearly collapsed onto the detective.

Still perched on the kitchen counter, Maura wrapped her legs firmly around Jane's waist and broke off their kiss. She knew exactly what it was she wanted to say, but made the mistake of trying to gauge Jane's emotions first. Jane's eyes were dark and dilated with desire, her cheeks uncharacteristically flushed. The doctor delighted in her ability to feel Jane's muscles tensing at the mere feeling of Maura's fingers tracing her back before digging her nails in a bit harder.

All in all, the sensations were too much to take, and Maura could only choke out two words: "Bedroom. Now."

This was one time Jane was grateful for a small apartment, because Maura's tone definitely leant itself to implying that she wanted to be carried. A pure adrenaline rush allowed Jane to tighten her grip on Maura and pick her up off the counter, continuing to kiss her as she stumbled to the bedroom. Normally this might not have been so difficult, but the rapidity with which it was all happening had rendered Jane's legs temporarily weak, barely capable of supporting herself, let alone another person. But she managed to keep it together in enough time to get them both to her dark bedroom and deposit Maura on the bed.

Before Jane had a chance to get on top of the covers with her, Maura leaned forward and placed her hands on Jane's hips, kissing her stomach. Jane felt a shudder sweep through her from head to toe, yet as thrilling as it felt to have Maura's lips scale her abdomen, Jane found reason fighting its way back into her mind. They were going way too far way too fast, and Maura's sudden passion was alarming.

_We should stop_, Jane thought, trying to fight the fire that was spreading mercilessly through her body at the feeling of Maura's mouth on her skin. _We should stop. We should stop! _The words were practically screaming inside her head, but Jane bit her lip to keep them from coming out—that had to be why she was biting her lip, because it certainly wasn't helping to stifle the short moans that came rumbling from the back of her throat. A small gasp escaped her when she felt Maura's fingers deftly undoing the first buckle of her jeans.

"Wait," Jane breathed, getting on her knees. She needed to be at Maura's level, to look her in the eye, to make sure this was what they both really wanted.

But Maura misread Jane's tone and expression. "Oh of course, I'm being selfish," she said, and in one swift movement she had pulled her shirt up over her head, and anything else Jane had planned on saying got stuck in her throat at the sight. Indeed, she felt as though all of her breath had been extracted from her with the strength of a knock-out punch. Maura's body was a peerless example of anatomical perfection, and Jane couldn't keep her mouth from dropping slightly as her eyes roved from top to bottom: Maura's silver pendant now hung between two deliciously formed breasts, encased in a thin, flesh-colored bra that did little to hide just as how aroused she was; the slender slope of her stomach curved as she bent over slightly to take off her shoes, and Jane was both afraid of and excited by what she correctly guessed the doctor's next move would be. Maura stood up and without the slightest hint of hesitancy or embarrassment, removed her slacks. She nimbly stepped out of them, and smirking at the look of awe on her friend's face, reached down and interlaced her fingers with Jane's, pulling her to her feet.

Jane found herself pulled into another voracious, open-mouthed kiss, and she became acutely aware of every particle of her being. She wasn't sure how to explain it (although maybe it was because she was now able to feel so much more of Maura's skin), but it was as if she could feel the effects of this kiss all over her body. It frightened her that she felt so out of control, that she couldn't keep one hand from drifting to Maura's barely-covered ass and the other from sliding up and down the smooth skin of her back. Her brain felt as though it was shutting down with each of Maura's calculated movements, driving her tongue into Jane's mouth and tucking one leg around hers.

In this position, she turned them around and pushed Jane onto her back on the bed. On her elbows she moved further back to allow Maura the room to join her, and she thought—she _knew_—she had never seen anything sexier than Maura Isles wearing nothing but a bra and what appeared to be essentially a lace thong, crawling towards her on her hands and knees. The next thing Jane knew, she was practically slammed against the headboard of the bed, with one of Maura's thighs working to spread hers apart.

Still wearing her jeans, Jane couldn't properly tell exactly how wet Maura was; she could only imagine as Maura's whimpers and moans got louder and less far apart. It was actually Jane's denim that was threatening to drive Maura over the edge, creating a delirious friction as she frantically rubbed herself against the rough fabric. More than anything she wanted Jane to touch her, really touch her, but was wary of asking for it. Jane could not repress the animalistic panting which was currently the only way she could get oxygen to her lungs, beyond turned on at the feeling of Maura working herself against her.

But something bothered her. It felt hypocritical to be even be thinking it, seeing as she herself was digging her nails into the soft skin of Maura's gyrating hips, but she couldn't help being concerned by Maura's fervor. Objectively speaking, there was nothing wrong with the carnal atmosphere Maura had created, but there was that word again—objectively. As a person with sexual needs and wants, Jane knew that what was currently happening topped any fantasy she could have ever dreamed up. But as someone who had carefully imagined this scenario to be much gentler and loving for the first time, she knew it really did need to stop. The main reason for this was that she got the feeling Maura was using her. Yes she believed that Maura loved her, but this, right now, was not love. It was anger. It was desperation. Jane wouldn't be surprised if Maura's nails had drawn blood at this point, and she could definitely feel some oncoming bruises. Maybe Maura was just rough in bed, but Jane was unable to escape the suspicion that Maura, in her fragile and emotional state, was just taking everything out on Jane.

She had to wait for Maura to give her a break, and it came several moments (or minutes; who knew?) later, when Maura began leaving a trail of hard kisses down her neck.

"Maura?" she said in a partially-rattling gasp.

The way Jane said her name was the only thing that could have given Maura pause. She was already incredibly aroused, but there it was again, her name in that inherently sensual voice, only now it had the added sexiness of the fact that Jane was out of breath—breath Maura had taken from her. It was this that got her to look up into Jane's eyes, and she was instantly able to read the fear that was there.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered, brushing a thick strand of hair away from Jane's sweaty forehead.

It would be so easy to just nod and start kissing her again, to hook her fingers around that lace waistband and pull down, to unclasp Maura's bra and suck on what it barely concealed. _So _easy, and furthermore, it was what they both wanted. But one of the most important lessons Jane had learned in her line of work was that the right thing to do and the easy thing to do were rarely the same thing, and hard though it was, she had never regretted putting the right thing first.

Confused by what had stalled the action so suddenly, Maura shifted her position so that she was fully straddling Jane, her knees on either side of the detective's hips. "What is it?" she asked softly, tracing her hands up to rest on Jane's neck. She frowned slightly at the lack of reaction these movements had received. "Don't you want me?"

"I want you so badly," Jane whispered, answering quickly so as not to leave Maura in doubt of her ultimate intentions. She curled her fingers tightly in Maura's hair, resting her other hand at the small of Maura's back and leaning forward, so that their foreheads touched. "But not like this."

"Like what?" Maura asked.

Jane tightened her jaw as she felt herself coming down from the aphrodisiacal high Maura had built her up to. "I need to know …I need to know what you're thinking, Maura. What you're feeling."

"Well just a moment ago, I was feeling exceptionally close to an orgasm," was Maura's blunt reply.

Jane had to laugh at that, and the small sound of mirth allowed her to relax slightly, even if Maura's response had been entirely honest. But she could see that Maura, while not upset, was not amused, either.

"Are you afraid?" Maura asked seriously.

_Yes. I'm afraid of how this might change our friendship. I'm afraid of how to proceed from here. I'm terrified that we'll do this and you'll regret it, or that I won't be good enough for you._

After a very pregnant pause, Jane said, "I'm… worried, mostly."

"About what?"

"You."

"What do you mean?"

Jane never would have guessed that the mere act of conversing could change the atmosphere of the bedroom so fast and so strongly. They were barely clothed, and Maura was sitting in a position that definitely leant itself to the eventual consummation of the feelings they had both been repressing for so long. Yet all of a sudden, it had become much less difficult for Jane to keep her mind off of sex. It was as if they were safely back in the kitchen or the living room, about to embark on what was sure to be another awkward conversation. But Jane needed to have this out.

"How you feel about me," Jane elaborated. "You're still upset with me."

Maura sighed shortly. "Jane, I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"I _have _to talk about it," Jane whispered, urgently but not angrily. "Please, Maura. Please tell me this isn't just—angry sex."

She felt stupid and immature saying the two words out loud, and if it hadn't been so dark in the room, she'd have worried about a blush creeping up on her cheeks. Maura raised an eyebrow and frowned, surprised at Jane's word choice. But as she quickly wrapped her head around it, the realization hit her that if she were totally honest with herself, Jane had totally called it. Her emotions were so confusingly mixed that Maura could feel a headache coming on: she truly wanted Jane, she truly loved her. However, despite everything she had said about her revelatory conversation with her parents, Maura still felt proud and yes, a bit angry towards Jane.

"Do you love me?" Jane asked nervously.

"I've told you I do," Maura said in a tone of light exasperation that made Jane feel a bit stupid for asking.

"Do you forgive me?" She watched Maura's face closely for any clues, as the doctor remained silent. "Please, Maura, tell me. Say something."

Maura inhaled deeply, and her calm tone of voice belied the tears that were stinging her eyes. "I feel so foolish," she whispered, backing off of Jane. Jane immediately sat up with worry, but calmed down slightly when Maura simply lay next to her, making no move to get up or leave. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't. Don't be sorry."

Suddenly aware and slightly ashamed of her nakedness, Maura reached for the covers and pulled them up to her stomach, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know what came over me." She snorted a laugh. "Well, no, I know exactly what came over me. You are an incredible specimen, Jane."

"Uh…thanks," Jane muttered, never any good and receiving compliments.

"I've just been so—lost, so confused, so hurt lately," Maura said in a quiet voice. "I hate that I've made you feel so torn up. I hate that I didn't forgive you sooner, and that I made you feel guilty for ridding the world of a murderer."

Jane felt pang of remorse as she watched a tear slide sideways down Maura's cheek, onto a rumpled pillow. "Maura, I—"

"I really hate it," Maura cut in. "I hate that I made you feel as if you betrayed me."

"But I did."

Maura closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, Jane. I already told you. See, this is what happens when I let emotions rule me. My loyalties get misplaced, and I hurt the people that I love the most." She blinked and turned to face Jane, reaching for one of the detective's hands. Kissing the scarred palm, she caught Jane's own teary-eyed gaze and said, "I forgive you." She leaned over and captured Jane's lips in a brief kiss, repeating, "I forgive you."

Though it didn't make much sense, the impact of those words somehow boosted Jane's heart even more than the long-awaited feeling of Maura's skin against hers.

"Do you forgive yourself?" Maura asked somberly.

Jane gulped slightly, unable to meet Maura's gaze. "Well, I… I can only give myself the slightest bit of—comfort, I guess you could say—by knowing that I didn't mean for him t-to… die. I just can't—I mean, I'm still really struggling to forgive myself for hurting you so bad."

"Badly."

Jane caught Maura's eye, and saw the glint of a joke there. They both chuckled softly, hesitantly, again as if worried that this was not an appropriate time to be amused. But Jane sobered up quickly enough: "It almost makes me feel worse knowing that you _can _forgive me for it, when I still hate myself for hurting you at all."

"Because you love me."

"God, Maura, _so much_."

"I know. Isn't that enough?" When she got no response and saw Jane's quivering lips, Maura said, "All right I'm going to say one more thing, and I want it to be the last time we say his name—or at least the last time for a long while, okay? What was Patrick Doyle's last instruction to you?"

Still paranoid, as if anxious that this might be a trick question, Jane steeled herself and said, "To protect you."

Maura squeezed her hand. "Exactly. And that's what you've done, and more. So much more. Jane, I've always loved you. You were the family I never really had but always wanted. And now, I am so prepared for that love to go further. I can't even put into words how important you are to me, and how impossible it is for me to envision a happy future without you."

Jane choked slightly, tears still resolutely falling. It was still so hard to believe Maura was saying these things to her; it felt too good to be true. "I just want to be worthy of you, Maura."

"What makes you think you aren't?"

"What I did."

"What you did wounded me, yes, and it's going to take a while for that ache to heal. But it's already begun. Your motivations have been validated by Detective Frost and Agent Dean. _My_ motivations have been demolished by my parents' explanations and answers. I know myself and I trust myself well enough to know now that it would be indescribably stupid to run away." Jane remained silent except for her sniffling, and Maura moved closer, eliminating entirely any of the space that had remained between them. "Stop selling yourself short, Jane. I love you."

Jane buried her face in the crook between Maura's chin and shoulder, profoundly grateful that Maura wasn't pushing her away, but instead putting an arm around her. She would never be able to hear it enough, that she was loved by this woman. Improbably and impossibly, Maura loved her.

"Stay here with me," Jane quietly pleaded a few moments later.

Maura kissed the top of her head, threading her fingers through Jane's unruly curls. "Of course."

It took a while for both of them to calm down completely, for Jane's shuddering crying to come to a stop and for Maura's slightly-labored breathing to go back to normal. There were many more words that remained unspoken between them, but they could wait. Everything could wait now, because both of them felt sure that they were in each other's lives forever. Ultimately Jane shifted her leg so it rested over Maura's waist, but that was as close as they got to restarting the actions that had gotten them to the bedroom in the first place. There would be time—months, years, decades—for that in the future. Now, it was more than enough to fall asleep in each other's arms, to feel forgiven, but most importantly, loved.

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><p><strong>AN**: Thanks for reading, everyone! I've been so overwhelmed by the positive response to this story, and I really appreciate all the feedback. (Please review- they mean so much, really). I hope to update my other stories soon...until then, later days! (Or, check out my profile for a link to my youtube channel. I am a devoted creator of Rizzles music videos, and editing comes to me much more naturally than writing.)


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